Who Done It, Daahling?
by Ellibell
Summary: A different point of view on my favorite board game.


**"Who Did It, Daahling?"**

W peeked around the corner in the hallway. Her heart pounded in her chest. Somewhere in the house someone had murdered the poor professor and dumped him outside on the front porch. She didn't know how she knew that, or of anything that had happened, she just remembered waking up with the feeling that this had all happened before. The murderer and the murder weapon were unknown, and W had no clue where her boss was, or what she would want her maid to do. As W stepped forward, she wondered where to go next. She was right next to the kitchen, which had a secret passage way to the study, so she might as well go there.

She entered the kitchen quickly, slowly making her way past the ovens towards the hidden door. She paused, wishing she had time to make just one pie. Shaking herself, she brought herself back to the present. Opening the cabinet door, she wrapped her black skirt closer around her legs, and slid down the chute, landing on the soft blow-up mattress at the bottom. She bounced back up and hurried down the dark and dreary corridor. She arrived at the intersection of tunnels but kept going straight. Soon she arrived at the other end, and climbed up the ladder. She paused at the door, hearing someone in the study. W opened the door slowly, hearing a gasp from a man, then "My God!" exclaimed in a deep, gruff voice. She popped up to see Ms. S and Colonel M. standing in front of her, Ms. S with a condescending look on her face, and the colonel with an astonished face. W curtsied deeply in apology, then turned to face Ms. S.

"I'm sorry miss, but I didnae want to take the hallway, miss. I was a little scared of what might happen to me, miss." W curtsied again, then stood with her head bowed down, waiting for her employer to answer. She played with her apron strings that were behind her back, wishing she could be in her lovely kitchen baking pies, like she always A gruff sound seemed to fill the room as the colonel cleared his throat. Ms. S finally deigned to answer her maid.

"Yes, well, I suppose that's fine. I do believe we all are afforded a moment of relapse during this state of emergency, though I do think now would be the time to start thinking clearly." Her answer was tinged with sarcasm, showing that she thought very low of her maid. Her attire was a seductive red dress that hugged her curves and was bit gaudy for daytime. However, most men would think nothing of fashion, just of the fact that she was a "beautiful gal" and was particularly stunning. Her hobbies included remodeling each of her daddy's mansions periodically. "Tell me, W, who do you think 'dunnit'?"

"Weeeelll," W hesitated, not wanting to anger her employer. "I didnae know for sure, but I think that Mr. G snuck a'behind him, while they was getting a snack in the kitchen, and strangled him with a piece of rope. Then he washes his hands, drags the poor professer behind him wit' ta rope still around 'is neck, and dumps him outsid'a house." Her voice sped up with concern as she accused someone close to her employer. "Impossible!" The colonel trumpeted. "I-I was in the kitchen during the time of the murder, and I do believe that I am as good as any witness with what might have been going on in the kitchen-"

"Yes, yes, I do think your word is good, Colonel." Ms S' s voice cut through his mutterings. "As for the rest of your silly theory, it's no good. I was with Mr G at the time, and the wound on the BACK OF HIS HEAD suggests that he was indeed, not strangled. Really, I cannot believe you would accuse Mr. G of anything like this." Ms S's tone had become louder during the middle but dissipated towards the end. She dismissed her maid with the flick of her hand, turning to her companion. "I do believe that we should disperse and search out the others. Why don't you head towards the billiard room, and I'll head towards the dining room." Without waiting for a reply, she headed out the door, and down the hall.

As S headed down the huge empty hallway that connected all of the rooms in the sprawling mansion she owned, she thought of possible remodels. Her mind immediately ran through all the color palettes she put together in her head during her free time. "My goodness, I hate this disgusting orangish red floor. I really must ask Daddy if he can get someone to redo it for me." Her tall heels clicked on the tile floor, and she hurried as the sound filled the hallway with a threatening tone. She reached the dining room door and entered, a little breathless. "Oh good, you're still in here. Goodness, why do we have to have THAT in here?"

"That" was the crumpled body of Professor P, with the deep gouge in his head prominent as he lay on the long dining table. Her opinion was directed at the tall, well dressed man who was examining the corpse. "Look at you, playing detective like you always do. Well, what do you think of this nasty business, Mr. G? Mr. G looked up from his contemplations, and smiled at the sight of his- well, his "special friend" that he spent most of his time lately with. "Well look at you, playing detective." He purred, his slightly greased hair shining under the lit chandelier that hung from the ceiling. "I couldn't see him that well, so I thought I'd-ahem-shed some light on it." He started laughing at his own joke, Ms. S joining in with the laughter.

"Oh Daaling, you're such a laugh," Ms S teased, then added, "No really, who do you think bopped him off? I think it must have been that daft colonel, always going on about his days in the military, and how in his day, he could kill a dozen Indians. A man like that would surely want to get back in the action, wouldn't he? I mean, we all know how much Professor P stuck his nose in a book and would hide out in the library. The Colonel probably grabbed one of his sixpence or sixshootey things and shot the living daylights out of the dodgy old Professor."

"No dear, that is no gun shot wound," Mr. G pointed to the head of the deceased. There was a deep imprint of a long roundish instrument on the skull, but no bullet entry wound. "Don't think that's what happened, but good try. But I do believe you were spot on with the library. That is the last known place that Professor visited. And I don't think it was the colonel, I happened to know that he was in the billiard room, as I heard him shout out 'Bully!' like he always does when he hits a ball in the pocket, right before our little, ahem, rondevous. And that shout came from a different room in the house than the library, which muffles any sound that comes about in it-" He paused as everything around him froze, including Ms S. Then suddenly it went black.

"I've got it! I know who it is!" Andrea squeaked with glee. She bounced up and danced around the board game on the floor and her companion. "If you have the Scarlet, Colonel Mustard, and Mr. Green cards, proving that they didn't do it, and if I have the Mrs. White card, and Professor Plum is the victim, that means Mrs. Peacock killed him! She's the only one left! And you don't have the Library card, so that means that's where it happened! Now, for the weapon. I have the Knife, you have the Rope and the Gun, that leaves the lead pipe and the candlestick. Oh, but lookey here! I also havethe lead pipe, so that means she used the candlestick! Hahaha! I won! Finally, I won!" Bobby sat slumped, his head on his fist, as he rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, you finally won. Whoopee. Can we be done now?"

*All Characters, (excluding Andrea and Bobby) weapons and rooms, are property of the makers of Clue. I put on my own imaginative spin on the characters as if I were playing the game myself.


End file.
